‘Since Matthew left?’ Faye asked, holding back a stem.
‘No, Faye, ever.’
Faye paused her thinking, taking a second to let Dimitria’s comment land inside herself.
‘Do not get me wrong. This is not me saying that everybody needs a man to come and rescue us. Because if we are waiting out the rest of our lives for a man to come and rescue us, we will be saved by the only man who always turns up in the end – God himself. No, I am saying that when you were with Matthew you were many things, too many things. A good wife, an excellent mother, a cook, a cleaner, a problem solver, always juggling, always dependable and then, after Matthew, you were sad for a long time, but you still had to be an excellent mother, a cook, a cleaner, a problem solver, always juggling, always dependable for your daughter.’ She cut another rose. ‘And then, when you decided to move to Avlaki, you jumped into that new beginning with such enthusiasm, such abandon, but I think you made that fresh start all about helping someone else. I think you made it about helping me.’
‘No, Dimitria, I mean, of course I wanted to?—’
‘Please, Faye, it is not a bad thing. It is a very good thing and I do not think you will ever truly realise how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Not just for the hotel, but for me personally.’ She reached out and squeezed Faye’s hand. ‘If it had not been for you I do not know if I would have had the strength to continue with the hotel, and now it is more successful than it has ever been and, not just that, it is the home-away-from-home for guests that I have always wanted it to be.’
‘Dimitria, I?—’
‘No, wait, I am not getting to the heart of the point I wanted to make.’ She squeezed Faye’s hand again. ‘All these things you do for other people and then, in those photos, I see the Faye who is at last, finally, doing things for herself.’
She could see the beginnings of tears in Dimitria’s eyes and there was a lump in Faye’s throat that was growing bigger as the seconds ticked by. She nodded, understanding exactly what her friend was saying and knowing that no truer words had ever been said.
‘So, really, it is me who should be apologising to you,’ Dimitria said, letting go of her hand and focussing again on the roses.
‘Why?’
‘All those highly unsuitable men I was trying to get you to make do with! And Alexandros! I am certain he is an excellent estate agent and I have no doubt he could cleverly talk you into the bedroom or wherever people are doing it these days, but he is arrogant and he worries too much about the wrinkling of his clothes. My Spiros always took pride in his appearance, but if his shirt was a little creased by the end of a night at apanegyri, so what? Alexandros gets angry about a dripping straw!’
‘You are right,’ Faye agreed.
‘And Mr Petsas, how is he with his clothes?’ Dimitria asked. ‘When he is wearing them, of course.’
‘Dimitria!’
The older woman laughed and moved to another section of the rose bush. ‘Try not to think about that when you are telling Saffron about the photos.’ She smiled. ‘By the way, you have a few hours before you need to worry about that. Unless her new friend is interested in the Corfu news pages. I took Saffron’s phone.’
‘What?’ Faye exclaimed.
‘Too much TikTok, and what if it fell in the pool? A health and safety issue.’ She shook the basket. ‘It is in here.’
‘You know she is going to go mad when she finds out,’ Faye told her.
Dimitria shrugged. ‘I have no idea how it found its way in here. She must have dropped it.’
44
THE TREEHOUSE, KERASIA
When Kostas arrived there was rope all around the wooden stairs that led up to the home in the trees, barring the way. It was wound around the branch handrail on one side and tied across the steps. Was this his grandmother’s doing? Or had something happened? Already his gut was leaping to the very worst conclusion, and it took him a second to stop his mind from racing to that particular finish line. He looked at the rope around the steps again. These knots were the work of his grandmother. If something bad had occurred there would be red-and-white tape. There was only one thing to do… He headed to the other side of the tree.
‘Yiayia!’
This was harder than it had been when he was younger. Had he got weaker or just heavier? Suspended above the ground, just below one of the treehouse windows, he felt like a monkey who had forgotten how to swing.
‘Yiayia!Voitheia! Help!’
His forearms were burning and he tried to find some kind of foothold on the house to aid his rise up the rope, but nothing was working.
‘What are you doing? Why are you on this rope?’
His grandmother’s head had appeared out of the window, grey headscarf wrapped tight, and he had never been so pleased to see someone.
‘The steps are all tied off,’ he answered, breath catching in his chest. ‘Then I remembered the emergency rope ladder but… half of it is gone.’
